Roden Linvail
LG Human Deep Walker Ranger Duskwarden
Father,
Something is amiss within the ranks of the Duskwardens. When that monstrosity broke through our defenses we were slow to respond, slow to organize, and our usual tactics were all but ignored. We put the beast down, but our losses were significant. We’ve turned to the Ardoc family for assistance and to bolster our ranks with their golems for our next expedition. We leave in the morning to locate and seal the breach.
I don’t want to drag you into this, I just want to keep you abroad of the situation. Keep your head low and your eyes and ears open. I hope this letter finds you well.
~Roden
Roden grew up in the relative peace and safety of the Tarheel Promenade. His mother passed away when he was very young and his father owned the Gnarled Root, a small second-story shop that sold all manner of arcane reagent. Roden was happy to help out at his father’s shop when he was a boy, and his father did well and his business thrived. Roden quickly picked up the ability to identify foreign plants and herbs. They would play a game where his father would quiz him on the identity of the items as they stocked the shelves. Things were good. Unfortunately, that didn’t last. The market changed, other shops opened and the competition stiffened. The constant pressure to keep his doors open weighed heavily on his father and he became more of a boss and less of a parent.
This all came to a head one morning when they were cleaning the shop just before opening. Roden was mopping up the stockroom and knocked over a large ceramic jar of extremely rare (and therefore very expensive) powdered verucca root and it shattered on the floor. He watched in stunned horror as the powder absorbed the soapy water, rendering it’s magical properties inert. His father rushed to the back to investigate the noise and lost control. His arm snapped across like a steel trap and hit Roden so hard that he tasted blood. He didn’t cry. He didn’t flee. And he certainly didn’t fight back. He knew that he had done wrong, so he just looked up at his father, struggling to retain consciousness while bracing himself for another strike. Luckily, the strike never came, for his father had realized what he had done. He stormed off without a word, and after a few moments Roden hurried to clean up the mess, but his relationship with his father was never quite the same after that.
Despite that fair setback, the Gnarled Root managed to keep it’s doors open. When Roden wasn’t working at the shop, he would venture off to gaze upon the wondrous Balconies of Bis and the golem-guards of the Ardoc family. He hung around the district so much that he was invited to apprentice with the Lamplighter’s Union who operate the complex system of ropes and pulleys necessary to keep the huge lamps suspended from the high ceiling, making the lighting of Bis a constantly shifting work of art. On top of learning appropriate climbing techniques and ropecraft, he also learned how to appreciate the simple beauty of the mundane world. He took great joy in collaborating with the other Lamplighters on how to best their designs from the previous season.
As if his day-to-day schedule wasn’t full enough, Roden found his true calling in that same district, for it also housed the Duskwarden Guildhouse. He knew they did honest and noble work and he was eager to do his part. He went through a gruelling application process, but after the dust had settled, Warden Hammerfell himself deemed Roden a worthy candidate. He donned the brown and grey uniform with pride and couldn’t help but glance down at the golden arch on a field of navy blue upon his right breast. He was quickly trained to fire a longbow and opted for a two-handed greatsword. He excelled in the various areas of combat and that, combined with his knowledge of local and exotic flora and his skills in ropecraft, had him quickly rising among the ranks. With his duties at the Union and the Duskwardens filling his schedule, he saw his father less and less. Months would pass before he got a chance to stop by the shop, and when he did, his father was distant and often spoke in vagaries.
And then the breach happened.
Whether fortuitous or not, Roden was not on active duty the day of the breach. He was suspended 60 feet in the air, lowering one of the huge lanterns for an upcoming street festival in Bis. The commotion could be clearly heard through the foggy air and Roden wasted no time descending to the ground and dashing off to the Guildhouse. He ran into the barracks and shedded his harness like dead skin, donning his gear and trying to figure out what exactly had happened. Somehow, someway, a tentacled horror had made it into the training compound just beyond the Hole. That huge solid iron screw-plug door was the only thing preventing it from rampaging through the streets of Kaer Maga. By the time Roden arrived on the scene, his guildmates were battling the abomination at the threshold of the Hole. Luckily, the remaining ranks rallied and in their final push they managed to destroy the beast, but many, many lives were lost in the process.
The Duskwardens were not allowed the privilege of a grieving period. If word of this catastrophe got out on the streets, they would be battling mass hysteria. The breach had to be located and sealed. But with the severe losses they had suffered, they would need help. Luckily, Hammerfell had connections with the Ardoc family and secured an honor guard of golems to accompany them. Roden didn’t hesitate in volunteering himself for the expedition.
